Serendipity
by kmsparklin
Summary: A young FBI agent wakes up in ancient Britain with no recollection of how she got there, and a bullet wound in her side.
1. Chapter 1

**Serendipity**: the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, _especially_ while looking for something entirely unrelated.

Had my whole life been leading to this one moment? Every tick of the clock, every sunrise, every goodnight? Was this all my life was going to be? How could this be my fate?

The sound of a safety being clicked off echoed loudly in her ears. Heart pounding she inched forward sweat dripping off her brow landing 66 inches below on the dry dusty ground. Within microseconds it was gone, evaporated, like it had never existed. Doubt entered her mind, causing her hands to shake. How could she do this? Did she have it in her at 23 to kill someone?

A metallic sound clanked nearby and adrenaline pumped into her system steadying her hands, intensifying her senses, and bolstering her confidence in her training and mission. She moved forward the last few feet to the end of what had been her cover. The old rusty pipes had served their purpose well. With one deep breath she whipped around the corner, gun leveled. Time slowed as she put him in her sights and pulled the trigger. Two nearly simultaneous bangs reverberated loudly in her head. The sound was so loud it overpowered her senses, her mind not even realizing she had fallen to the ground.

A cool breeze whipped overhead, cooling the sweat off her body, and drying out the blood seeping into the ground. She could hear shouts all around as she stared up into the sky, the sun blazed overhead and her vision began to go white. Small flecks began to circle down as the sounds of the world became muted in her ears.

"Beautiful." She said in barely a whisper as a hawk already began to circle in.

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"Dag!" Bors yelled following his tall friend through the street. People parted like water in front of him, some terrified others in their perpetual awe of any of the knights.

They might have been slaves to Rome but to the people at the wall they were heroes. It was the one outpost along the stretch of Hadrian's Wall that had been attacked only once. After the knights had crushed Merlin's advance he had never tried to take the gate again. This had granted a reprieve, a sense of peace to the surrounding village. It was their own little Eden, and they got to see their heroes walk by in the flesh and blood every day.

"What?"

"Have you seen that blasted scout of ours?"

"I believe he is still out on the mission Arthur gave him." Dag replied evenly watching the crowd's mill around about them.

"Bloody figures. That good for noth….." Bors voice faded as he walked back in the direction of the barracks causing Dagonet to smile. Though he wondered what Tristan had done that had Bors in such a foul mood.

Meanwhile the cause of Bors anger was riding back through the dense undergrowth of the forest; troubled by the evidence of Woad movement he had found in the area. They usually stayed north especially in the colder winter months when it was much more dangerous to travel. He smiled at the thought of getting some fresher food and not the traveling rations he had with him. A nice apple would do him just fine. Well that and a warm dry place to sleep. A smirk appeared on his face. If only people could hear the way he thought, they'd never stop laughing. It always amused him how everyone looked at him, like he was a monster. Yes he enjoyed killing much more than the average person, but what would one expect. He was good at it so he might as well enjoy his current occupation. But the one thing he had always longed for was the day when he wouldn't have to anymore; the day when this enslavement would be over and he could breathe free air again, a time when he could go where he wanted when he wanted, that would be his true freedom.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Isolde let out a piercing cry to his right. He felt stupid for having not sensed danger so close by. Tristan drew an arrow and cautiously began to approach the area Isolde was slowly circling. He was irritated when the brush became thick, like something was trying to keep him from reaching whatever had caused Isolde's distress. Throwing caution to the wind he hacked at the brambles and they gave way easily before his onslaught.

He paused in surprise when he saw a small group of Woads encircling a figure on the ground. The figure pushed itself to its knees, red slowly dying the pure snow around. One of the Woads drew a sword and stepped in closer raising it. Tristan still didn't move. He had not recognized the style of dress and thought it might have been an outlaw, in which case as long as they moved on he would not intervene. That's when the figure looked in his direction and cool blue eyes met grey.

He loosed the arrow without a thought piercing the leader's neck with ease. The rest of the group turned in unison in his direction pulling out their weapons. He fired off two more arrows as he stepped out into the open, hoping the lady would move out of the clearing before she was injured further. That was the last he was able to think about when they all moved towards him in a deadly dance. As surprised as he had been to find them that close to the wall they were even less prepared to come face to face with a knight and he dispatched them easily and quickly. The once pristine grove bathed in blood and broken bodies.

Sheathing his sword he surveyed the ground not finding the woman amongst the fallen. A small trail of blood and disturbed snow led out of the clearing into the dense forest. Following it proved more difficult than he thought, and he wondered how the lady had moved through the brambles so quickly. Within a few moments he located that which he had been looking for; a calm fury writhing throughout him as he looked down at the broken body. Isolde flew down and perched on one of the many branches raising his gaze up to her.

"Keep watch."

Almost as if understanding those very words the hawk flew out and began a slow sweep of the vicinity.

Tristan knelt down next to the figure taking in a closer look. He had never seen the style of dress before, for that matter he could not recall ever really seeing a woman in pants. He reached out and felt the foreign fabric surprised at its softness. He could see leather shoes on the feet, and some form of weapon holder around her ankle and hip; but what type he could not say. The shirt she wore was sheer and was sticking to her skin showing off a very toned body. He couldn't help but rake his eyes over her defined body, and only after a minute did he move on. Chiding himself for wasting time he lifted her body and began to make his way carefully back to his horse.

Dawn stood patiently as Tristan did what he could for the wound on her side. He wrapped what bandages he could find in his saddle bag tightly around her midsection, worried that she had not stirred. Finally he took a closer look at her features as he finished up. Her skin was light but not untanned, her face didn't hold what he would call indescribable beauty but it remained far from plain, and her hair was pulled back from her face. Tristan pulled back slightly at the sight of the blond hair only one word running through his mind, Saxon. He reached down slowly moving some of the loose wisps from the face to look more closely.

Everything was conflicting within him. She was not dressed as a Saxon, and he knew she could not be Woad, Roman, or Briton. Yet she had all the tell tale features of being a Saxon, and that weighed heavily on his mind. Isolde circled down again, impatient to be moving on, and landed on the saddle of Dawn. Tristan looked up from his position, "What should I do?"

Isolde cocked her head to the side and then fluttered down onto the round. Almost cautiously Isolde made her way over to where Tristan and the woman were. Dawn pawing at the frozen ground behind her. Tristan watched as Isolde slowly made her way over to them, the lady stretched out before him. She surveyed the woman before her and curled up in the crock of her neck before looking back up at her master.

"Alright she comes."

A/N Please review and let me know what you think so far.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with King Arthur, enough said.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bors walked slowly back from the tavern. He stumbled only slightly on the uneven stone pavement despite a long evening of drinking. Of course he had at least tried to restrain himself from imbibing too much of the ale he had enjoyed so often since he had become a man. He needed his head about him if he was to confront the scout when he eventually decided to grace the wall with his gloomy presence. He still could not believe the calm stone faced Tristan would sink so low. Galahad yes, but Tristan he could not believe capable of such immature trickery.

"_Hey Bors! What the hell did you do?" Galahad asked as he and Gawain approached from out of the quarters. Both with very confused, or perhaps it was more hidden amusement, expressions on their faces._

"_I mean I know you don't really stay in the place except when Vanora kicks you out of the house, but seriously what the hell made you do it."_

"_What are you two talking about?"_

"_We just saw one of the maids, and she was horrified after going into your room." Gawain said._

"_Couldn't even get her to speak so we went in ourselves." Galahad continued, neither answering the question._

_They could tell Bors was becoming quite fed up with their evasions. Being the two youngest knights left kept them at the bottom of the totem pole, and neither wanted to be the object of anger for Bors._

"_I think its best you go look yourself." Gawain said, "Though if you didn't do it I don't know who would have."_

"_Really, probably your friend here." Bors said looking at Galahad who squirmed under the elders gaze._

"_Normally I'd say you were right, but I can vouch for him. This was not his doing." Gawain intervened hoping Bors would not take it out on his friend. Bors only nodded before heading in the direction of the knights' quarters._

_He entered finding a few of the maids getting ready to enter his old chambers. They saw him coming and blanched, he felt sorry for them and thus didn't say anything. He pushed open the door and stepped in aghast at what he found. The place looked as though it had been ransacked. However, that was not what bothered him, as he had nothing of value there. Rather it was the multitude of dead animals strewn across the room, giving off a horrid stench. Many had almost completely decomposed and ants were crawling everywhere. He went to open the window hoping to let in some air for those who had to clean only to find it was unlatched and even a slight breeze could have opened it._

_One thing after another clicked and he cursed under his breath, "Tristan and that damn bird of his are dead."_

_He exited back to the hall apologizing that they must clean it but assuring them it was not his doing but that he would make sure it did not happen again. With that, he left to go in search of the source of his problem._

That was two days ago and the bloody scout still had not returned. Bors nerves were wearing thin as he went to check the stable before heading back to the place he shared with Vanora. The streets were dark and mostly empty in this part of the fort. During the day it would be filled with the daily activities of the Roman military and the Sarmatians' practice, but at night it was one of the quietest and safest places to walk.

Dawn was not within the stable indicating the absence of her rider as well. Bors could not help but wonder if everything was okay, he should have been back already. There were too few of them left too not care about the fate of each other. In the beginning, they had held each other at arm's length. Better to not get involved, than be torn apart by the constant loss of a friend. Now things were different. Only eight of them remained and he'd be damned if any more of them died. They only had three more years to go before it was over; and if he had anything to say about it, they would all make it.

With a sigh Bors started to go back toward the main part of the village, back to his family…well sort of. But he wasn't one to really get into the specifics. That is when the tell tale sound of a galloping horse reached his ears. He turned towards the opening gates, which gave way before the rider. Through the dust he could make out a grey speckled mare. Tristan had returned at last, but his speed was cause for concern. There was no reason he should race so carelessly back into the fort when no one was directly pursuing him.

Tristan slowed as he neared Bors, thankful at least that someone was around that could help him. Though unsure of how to explain himself, he knew he had no time to loose, he could feel the woman in his arms fading fast.

"Bors, I must get her to a healer quickly can you take care of Dawn?"

Bors looked up at the scout taking in the figure of the young woman for the first time.

"She looks a bloody mess."

"Bors." He said sternly. Bors nodded holding onto the reins as Tristan carefully dismounted sliding the girl into his arms in one fluid movement. Without even a thank you, or a second glance, he raced off into the darkness.

Bors could only shake his head and wonder what exactly had come to pass. Then remembering the state of his room shot an evil glare as Isolde sailed deftly overhead.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur paced across his study as darkness crept in over Britain. The old floorboards worn over the years had ceased to creak under the familiar weight. Jols came in unannounced to light a few of the candles scattered throughout the room sending long shadows fluttering across the cluttered walls. The new grey phantoms only served to increase Arthur's unrest. He knew Tristan should have been back a day ago at the latest, and he knew Tristan, and perhaps Dagonet, to be the only two punctual knights. Either way the scout had never been late to give a report. That in mind he settled back in at his desk the pacing he decided was doing nothing for his nerves.

"Arthur."

"Jols?" Arthur asked raising his head from the letter he was poring over. Pelagius rarely had the opportunity to write, but the words of his friend and mentor had always served to ease Arthur's weary mind.

"Tristan has returned."

Arthur let out a breath he had not even realized he had been holding and nodded, "Send him in."

"I shall fetch him from the healing ward."

Arthur rose to his feet quickly fearing the worst, "What has happened?"

"It is not Tristan who was wounded. Rather I saw him carrying a figure in his arms."

"Then let us go see what has happened."

Jols nodded as they began to make their way through the cold dim halls to the bottom floor. Winter had seeped into every crack of the Wall and no amount of fires and candles could warm the place despite the efforts of the servants. The door to the healing ward was open as they approached and Arthur could see the healer scurrying about under the harsh eye of Tristan before stopping in front of the scout.

"I've never seen a wound like this before. Even if I did know how to treat it I would not. Where did you find this devil spawn and why would you bring it here? I will not treat it I tell you, it will bring a curse down upon this fort!"

Tristan tensed and stepped forward drawing himself up, "You will treat her." He growled out as the man cowered back. Never had the scout given him more than a yes or no, and hearing him talk he decided was more frightening than his icy silence.

"Is there a problem?" Arthur asked trying to interfere before the healer was injured himself.

Tristan did not flinch at his presence he had known Arthur was there even before he had stepped into the room.

"He wa….wants me to treat a Saxon." The healer finally managed to spit out forcing his eyes away from the scout and to Arthur.

Arthur stepped around the healer to look at the figure in the bed that seemed to be the source of his current headache. What met his eyes was a bloody, dirty form of a woman who had every appearance of being a Saxon and a different kind of cold crept into his bones. He had thought the healer was exaggerating. He flashed his gaze up to Tristan and was surprised to find a pleading look in his eyes. Tristan was silently begging him to save the woman before him, something he had never thought the scout would do. He turned to the healer who was patiently waiting for Arthur's decision already sure he had won the battle.

"Treat her as if she were me." He said sternly and the healer looked at him aghast.

"But…"

"Now!" the healer nodded and began to gather supplies, "Jols watch him, Tristan with me."

The silence was almost deafening as Tristan followed Arthur back to his study. He kept trying to come up with the words he would use to explain himself but his worry for the strange woman below muddled his usually clear-cut thoughts. Arthur stood aside and closed the door as Tristan coolly walked in, his outward façade unreadable as always. Arthur walked around to the other side of the room where he had been pacing only half an hour before nervous of Tristan's late return.

Now he faced another sort of dilemma.

"What do you have to report," He finally asked figuring it was best to start with what his original intent was.

"Everything is normal."

Arthur almost could have laughed at the scout's word choice…almost.

"More than three words please."

Arthur sat down motioning for Tristan to do the same. The scout merely moved forward out of the deepest of the shadows.

"The area is clear of Woads now. Merlin is keeping to the North of the Wall."

"Now?"

"There were a few small parties but they have been easily dispatched."

Arthur nodded, as it was nothing new for a few defects that even Merlin did not want to wind up causing trouble in the South.

"Then please explain the presence of the Saxon our healer is taking care of now."

"She was being attacked by Woads. I intervened."

"What possessed you to help a Saxon, woman or no?"

"She is no Saxon."

"Not a Saxon! I've seen her myself she carries the very likeness of one." Arthur said incredulous.

"Her clothes and manner are foreign."

"You are basing a judgment off of how she dresses. Tristan you know that will not hold before the council when…if they inquire of this."

"She is no Saxon." Tristan said with finality.

Arthur closed his eyes in frustration.

"If you don't believe me we will just have to ask her."

"Do you really think she would own up to being a Saxon spy when she knows she will face the sword, or worse?"

Tristan looked steadily at the commander he had served under for 12 years. One of the few men and the only Roman he dared to even consider a friend, "Trust me."

"I do more than you know, but I'm afraid this is going to need more than your word and my belief in it. I cannot and will not open this fort up to any threat. I will speak with her when she awakes then we will have to decide what will be done with her."

"Arthur..."

Arthur raised his hand slowly, "There is no other course of action. Go, rest and let me think."

Tristan turned and walked crisply out of the room leaving Arthur to his thoughts alone yet again. He knew he would not get any sleep that night.

A/N

And now for my petty excuses for not updating in literally forever...college and job searching are major drains on time and energy.

Just please review and let me know what you think, I'm still not entirely sure where I'm going to take this story...so if you have a good idea and want to share I am more than receptive. ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Ava woke up to a feeling of dread; coldness had seeped into her entire body over the night thanks to the carelessness of the healer; who had neither left a thick blanket or came back in to tend to the fire. She hadn't opened her eyes for fear of what she would see. Trying to piece together what had happened Ava tried to do a memory recall exercise; Flashes of desert, the gunshot, then cold snow, the cry of a hawk and blue people looming above her. None of it made sense, the only thing that had been any comfort since she had fallen down the rabbit-hole were the wild eyes of the mysterious man who had saved her.

A shiver ran down her spine and she exhaled as she opened her eyes, tearing up when they were met with stark wood walls, the smell of bodily fluids and the copper of blood. The reality of being away from everything she knew sinking in even deeper. She shifted to try and see more and almost cried out as pain radiated up her side.

"Don't move" she whispered out loud to herself and laughed sardonically, thinking about old habits dying hard. After the novelty of it wore off the silence weighed back down and she tried to get some rest wondering when someone would be back to check on her.

She tensed up as she heard the door creak open.

Tristan cursed under his breath when he entered the room. The woman seemed to be sleeping peacefully, which was a miracle considering how cold the room was. He crossed quickly to the fireplace and stoked up the fire until it was roaring. He sat and looked into the dancing flames, chaotic and beautiful. Arthur had to be convinced to let her stay. This would be easy for he would see the truth of her not being a Saxon easily enough, it was just convincing the council (if they even decided to intervene) that would be a problem. But, he had made up his mind to protect this girl; and he'd be damned if he was going to go back on that promise.

Ava peered under her eyelids at the figure sitting in front of the fire; it wasn't hard to determine it was the same man who had saved her in the forest, as the silhouette was the same. The heat from the fire was washing over her body, and she looked down at her side only to see a bandage that desperately needed to be changed. Out of nowhere, a large black spider dropped down onto her stomach and she let out a soft yelp, Tristan jumped up knife in hand only to find her flicking the offending creature clear across the room where it hit the wall and crumpled into a ball. If he had been one prone to laughing he felt that would have been an opportune moment.

She looked up as he made his way over to the chair beside her bed. She found herself smiling sheepishly. While it had been the biggest spider she had ever seen in her life Ava still wasn't very proud of letting her tough outer appearance falter. She tensed again when he reached to look at her side. Tristan cringed, the bandage would have to be changed and the healer was nowhere in sight. He went into the cabinet and grabbed what he needed, glad he had bandage himself enough times to know what he was doing.

He crossed back over and motioned that she would have to sit up. Slowly Ava managed to sit up enough so that Tristan could reach around her and take the old bandage off. She looked down to assess the state of her GSW. It wasn't bleeding very much thanks to the stitches, but it was oozing a bit and she feared it might be getting infected. In a place she suspected didn't have antibiotics or penicillin she knew it could be a death sentence. Tristan saw the infection as well and knew the wound needed to be opened up again. He pulled out one of his knives and looked at her trying to convey what he was going to do. A look of horror crossed her face, the only thing she could think was the knife was only going to make it worse. She pointed to the knife and Tristan thought she was going to try and resist and was even more confused when she immediately pointed to the candle on the table. After a few more repetitions Tristan finally got the hint to run the knife through the candle. After that she seemed more at ease, even though he was still utterly confused.

He quickly cut through the thick stitches surprised that the young woman managed to remain still and not cry out. Only looking at her face told him she was indeed in an intense amount of pain. He reached to his side and pulled out his flask handing it to her to drink. She took it cautiously and sniffed it before taking a few gulps. It was strong and had the resonance of moonshine. Satisfied he turned his attention back to the wound and grabbing a few cloths began to clear away the puss and tissue with his knife. It was a messy business, but he couldn't tell why it had become infected. As far as he could tell the healer had actually done a fairly good job at cleaning and sewing it up before.

He moved the knife more to the center of the wound and Ava flinched more than normal. That's when she realized the healer hadn't taken the bullet out.

"It's still in there." She managed to rasp out. The liquor might help with the pain but it did nothing for her already sore throat.

Tristan's head shot up. He could easily recognize most languages even if he couldn't speak them. She was most certainly not speaking Saxon. And her voice was so foreign he knew not even any of the dignitaries visiting from the far reaches of the empire had sounded like her. He shook his head.

"You need to get it out." She said but nothing seemed to be registering with the man in front of her. Her heart sank even lower in her chest. Wherever she had ended up they most definitely did not speak English.

She pointed to her side and tried to motion that something was in there. After ten minutes and a series of very complicated hand movements he finally got the hint and literally went digging around to try and find it. Ava could feel tears streaming down her face, but would not give into the urge to scream. She had to be stronger than that if she were to survive whatever was happening to her. Finally after what seemed like eternity Tristan pulled back with the bullet in hand. He sat it down on the table to examine later and turned his attention to the wound which was by that time quite swollen, but the bleeding was only minimal. He turned to get the needle to sew it back up and turned to find the woman pouring a small amount of the drink onto the wound, hissing through clenched teeth.

Tristan grabbed the flask from her hand quickly, confusion written all over. He looked at her as if expecting an explanation and she only stared back as if daring him to say anything. Not like she would understand it, but she knew he wouldn't get the fact that it killed off any bacteria. Obviously they did not know heating things up was a big help. After that thought she pointed to the needle and candle again and Tristan complied quickly. She looked away as Tristan began to sew up the wound as best he could. Doing it the second time round was not as easy as the first. The skin was not as taught and the good spots were then already punctured. He knew it would leave a nasty scar, but at least she would live.

"Sleep." Was all he said when he was done. (Sonimate) and he picked up the bullet squirreling it away in one of his many hidden pockets.

"Thank you" Ava said hoping he would at least be able to guess at what someone might say in such a situation. The man simply nodded, before putting away the rest of the bandages. Something about the word he had said sounded so familiar, but try as she might she just couldn't place it.

Before leaving Tristan had to try one last thing; he knelt down beside the bed and pointed to himself.

"Tristan" He said, "My name is Tristan." (Mihi nomen est Tristan)

Thoughts clouded her head as she finally realized what he had said. He was speaking Latin, that much she was absolutely sure of. After a few semesters of it in high school she at least knew how to introduce herself. But that fact and the conditions she found herself surrounded by made her even more scared. Latin was for all intents and purposes a dead language. If someone was just randomly speaking it weird but whatever, now she had the sinking feeling she had somehow landed herself back in Ancient Rome. A more likely scenario flashed through her head at the same time, coma. But the pain and vividness of everything around her seemed to real to be some strange fantasy in her mind.

Tristan watched her face as her emotions ran across it. Even though she had turned her head he could see and sense the confusion and fear radiating off her. He hoped it wasn't because she had somehow heard of his reputation. He then kicked himself as he remembered she couldn't even speak the language for anyone to have told her.

Finally composing herself she turned to see the man, Tristan, intently watching her. She raised her right hand and pointed to herself, "Ava" Leaving out any Latin as she didn't want him to expect her to understand anything else.

He nodded and left without another word. Only minutes after he had left did his name really sink in. Tristan; there was only one Tristan she could think of, legend or not and the time period fit. All she knew was if she ran into an Arthur she might just snap mentally.

By morning, news of Tristan's arrival had spread throughout the barracks. Whispers telling of a strange woman arousing suspicions, the infirmary was placed under guard; Dagonet watching the door like a dragon over his treasure. Arthur approached from the end of the hall, eyes weary from the lack of sleep over the past few days.

"Is she awake?"

"Yes."

Dagonet moved aside to allow Arthur into the room. Closing the door quietly behind him, Arthur silently observed the scene before him. Ava lay sorely in the same position as she had the evening before. In the faint light now beginning to stream through the small eastward window, Arthur could clearly see her profile. Everything Tristan had told him held true even in the light, her dress was utterly foreign. He moved over to the bed cautiously. Her resemblance to that of a Saxon however was even more striking than before.

"Facesso scio istic?" /"Do you know where you are?"

Arthur waited for a reply, Ava's eyes had not moved from the ceiling since he walked into the room. Finally, she turned her face toward him. Ava knew she could not have answered him even if she knew the question, her voice was gone completely. Fighting for control she rasped out an attempt at "water". This only proceeded to aggravate her throat into a coughing fit, and pain radiated out from her side as she tried to stop.

Eyes closed in pain she felt a cup pressed to her lips. Drinking deeply she eased back into the cot, coughing only sporadically. Exhausted and in intense agony she faintly heard the door open again as another person entered the room.

Arthur turned his gaze from the woman to see Tristan at the door. Setting the cup down he walked over to the scout. Neither spoke for a few moments each trying to read the others face.

"I pulled this from her wound." Tristan finally conceded the silence over as he pulled the mangled bullet now devoid of blood from his pocket. He had spent the night puzzling over its origins.

Arthur held out his hand as Tristan dropped the cold metal into his palm. Turning it over in his fingers he held it up to the light.

"Do you think you can get her to talk?" Arthur asked his eyes turning back to the stern scout.

Tristan did not answer but stepped around and walked to Ava's side. Ava found she could not look him in the eye and turned her head as she coughed again.

"Ava." Tristan said softly as Arthur walked up beside him. "Ava." He said a second time waiting patiently for her to turn her head toward him. Arthur shifted beside him, not as accustomed to having to employ this amount of patience on a regular basis. For Tristan it was like waiting for his prey to make the next move, calculated in its effect. Ava finally turned her head toward him. Blue eyes reddened from the long night.

"Loqui debeo."/ "You must speak."

"I….I can't understand you." She managed to choke out. "I don't know what's going on."

Tristan nodded slightly, having accomplished his goal he stood and walked to the fire. Arthur stared at the woman deep in thought before joining the scout. Ava watched the two from the bed silently as they spoke quietly back and forth. It seemed ages before they looked back over to her. She could tell the stranger was superior to Tristan by the way he had been acting. Arthur glanced back to Tristan and nodded before walking briskly out of the room.

Tristan was far from relieved. Arthur had only agreed to let her stay until all the knights were gathered and the matter could be discussed fully.

A/N

Don't hold me to the accuracy of the Latin… it has been a long, long time since I've had to use it.

As always thanks for reading and review if it suits your fancy!


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Ava was so numb from lying in the same position, she felt like she could not remember having ever moved. Her legs seemed permanently asleep she dreaded having to move, if that opportunity ever came. Despite Tristan's and the healer's best efforts to keep her wound clean and her body healthy she was feeling weaker and sicker every day. During the night a slight fever had set in and she found herself shivering uncontrollably. To her mind a useless waste of what little energy remained in her tired frame. Exhaustion had pushed her into sleep a number of times throughout the night, only to be jolted awake by memories of the desert.

Tristan entered the room silently at dawn as he had for the past week. His heart dropped even further upon seeing her state. He had been bringing in some of the knights daily so they could see her as per Arthur's orders. The only two left were Lancelot and Galahad, the two most prone to jumping quickly to conclusions. He walked over to feel her head, and knew it was not good. At the rate the sickness was tearing through her body she would not survive the next few days. Ava winced at the contact her head turning away slightly her eyes tightly shut. Even the light from the one small candle Tristan had brought in with him hurt her eyes terribly.

"It will all stop soon." He whispered wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. He could tell she was going in and out of consciousness.

He heard commotion outside the door and cursed to himself in Sarmatian. The only answer he got was Lancelot and Galahad stumbling in, obviously not recovered from the previous evening.

"We missed you at the tavern last night." Lancelot said regaining some of his composure. He clamped his hand down on the younger knight's shoulder, "Galahad here actually won a game of throwing."

Galahad angrily threw off Lancelot's hand. Still groggy he was in absolutely no mood for any of Lancelot's barbs or antics. He wanted to do what they needed to and promptly collapse back into his bed. Lancelot tousled his hair, jumping back when Galahad took a swing. Off balance, Galahad began to fall forward into one of the tables lined with jars of herbs. Tristan swiftly crossed the distance and roughly pulled Galahad away before he crashed into the table. With one hand, he flung the young man against the wall with a menacing glare, before turning it to Lancelot. Both cowered before Tristan's anger.

After a few moments, Tristan was satisfied he had gotten his point across, and letting Galahad go unharmed walked back over to Ava. Lancelot and Galahad shared troubled glances before quietly following the scout to the opposite side of the room. Both of them had a severe dislike of the room. As the place they were relegated to for so long after receiving any grievous injury, it was any knights worse nightmare to be stuck in the room for any amount of time. Tristan had avoided time in the room for the most part. Not because he was not injured as often, he actually did more than the rest of them, he just chose to tell no one and take care of such things himself if possible.

They both sobered immediately. Not from her appearance but more from her state, they had not realized how badly the woman had been injured.

Lancelot looked to Tristan who only shook his head before taking a seat next to the bed. Lancelot had seen Tristan nurse animals back to health before, his hawk for one, and he seemed to be doing the same thing with the woman. Only Lancelot was not sure he could do it this time.

"I suppose we won't be talking to her today." Galahad said roughly, only to take a slap to the back of the head from Lancelot. Tristan did not even bother to glare. It was true he was not sure he would ever speak to her again either. In the brief time he had had with her, they had managed to piece together a few basic conversations; mixed with broken Latin and a lot of gesturing.

"Well she seems harmless enough as far as I'm concerned. If she survives I'll back you Tristan." Lancelot said after a few moments. Tristan nodded his thanks as Galahad concurred the sentiment.

By his count that gave him a majority. It was possible that would be enough to sway Arthur; if he was lucky.

Arthur had called the meeting for that evening. Tristan looked down at her face, still feverish in the cooling air. He stood to rake the fire back up, awaiting the decision of the knights, Arthur, and the Roman's was the closest thing to torture he could remember enduring for quite a while. The latter was the only group that gave him any worry. They would burn her at the stake just under suspicion, dying or not.

It was only a few moments later when the door opened again. Arthur stood at the thresh hold, Dagonet behind him.

"She stays."

Confusion spread across each of the knights faces. The decision was supposed to be determined that night at the table. Arthur motioned the three of them to follow him from the room. Once in the hall he stopped and waited for Tristan to close the door.

"In the event she does survive her injury she has been granted the right to stay by the council."

"Why so charitable?" Lancelot asked, "Figured they would sing with glee knowing they could burn someone else."

"I am not aware of their real reason. I suspect they hope to use her for information."

"You cannot allow them…" Tristan began.

"Tristan I will do everything I can to keep her from harm. I'm afraid it will take all of us." Arthur said casting his eyes to Lancelot, Galahad and Dagonet. "I am having the maids prepare a room within your area of the barracks. It is up to you to protect her."

"And when we leave on a mission?" Lancelot asked, he did not trust the Roman's half the distance he could throw one of them.

"Van." Dagonet said swiftly.

"She would watch her like a she wolf if we ask." Galahad agreed.

Arthur nodded, "I leave it to you to talk to Bors and Vanora then. Lancelot explain the situation to the rest of the knights."

The three nodded and left, Lancelot dragging Galahad along with him. Tristan turned to return to Ava's bedside when Arthur caught his arm.

"We must find out as much as we can about her, it is the only way to protect her."

"That will take a long time."

"Time is one thing we may not have."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Ava woke groggily to a dimly lit room. The only light came from a small ray emanating from a window to her right and the soft sputtering from the fireplace at the other end of the room. Her side was still sore when she shifted, but it lacked the radiating pain from before. Slowly becoming more aware of her surroundings she was glad to note the horrid stench from before was lessened. Taking it as a good sign, she opened her eyes slowly. Photosensitive to even that small amount of light it took her a few moments to adjust. She was definitely in a different room, a different building she surmised based on the newer wood used in the walls. Despite her newer accommodations, she felt disgusting, and wondered just how long she had been unconscious. The sound of movement in the hallway reminded her sharply she was surrounded by people she could not communicate with, and people she was on a whole unable to trust. Her few moments of consciousness had always been filled with someone sitting beside her, usually Tristan or another tall bald man. They were the only two people she felt remotely safe having around her.

Minutes passed and boredom set in. Shifting her weight a little more than she had previously tried she found that the wound did not seem to pull. Taking it as a good sign that it had since healed up nicely, she slowly shifted into a sitting position. Her head spun from the movement after being stationary for so long. Her muscles groaned the entire time, but eventually functioned as she wished. Once up and settled she found herself wide-awake and able to fully survey her new room. It was reminiscent of her old college dorm room in size and starkness. The door was at the far end of the room on the left wall, feet from the fireplace. The window was sizeable and placed in the center of the wall to her right. Two chairs graced the space with their presence, one at the fire and the other positioned at one of the two small tables near the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small chest at the foot of the bed and a wardrobe toward the door. Sparse, but better than a cell, or the infirmary she thought.

After a few moments of debate she swung her legs over the side of the bed, only then realizing she was dressed in a thin linen shift. She shivered both from the cold and the thought of some stranger undressing her without her knowledge. Not wanting to dwell on it, she again focused on her goal and shimmied forward so that she was sitting with her feet touching the cold floor. The bed was low so she figured as long as she used her weight right even if she fell it would be back into the bed. Putting one hand on the chair she pushed up off the bed and wobbled dangerously. Lurching forward she managed to get her second hand on the chair as well and steady herself. Deciding safety was more important than pride she moved the chair so that it was in front of her like a walker and began moving slowly across the room. Stopping in front of the window she turned now realizing the latch was considerably higher than she had previously thought. She cursed under her breath, she would have to let go of the chair to reach it. Positioning herself so that she would not have to move after releasing her chair she slowly let go, working her underused muscles to the extreme to keep her balance. Grasping the latch she pulled up and began to open the window.

A strong gust of wind helped her with that task, pushing in freezing air and snow. It caught her off guard and her balance was lost. She flung her arms out to try and grab anything, but only remembered hard wood before her vision went black again.

* * *

Tristan rode back through the heavy snow. Strong gusts of wind cut through the little protective clothing he was wearing. Ducking into the protection of the woods the buffeting winds and snow decreased and his line of sight was returned. White outs were a dangerous thing in his business. Woads were known to use such storms as cover for raids south of the wall. To be out isolated with no quick way for reinforcements or help could spell disaster. Isolde sat perched on the saddle in front of him, fidgety from the lack of flight. Tristan just did not have the heart to risk letting her fly in such weather.

After a few minutes the sound of talking wafted through the dense air, and he could see a small fire from between the trees. Irritation arose that the sentry had not yet noticed him. Pushing on he was nearly in the clearing before Kaan noticed him. He stood gruffly a woolen blanket falling from his shoulders, and his hair moving as one solid block of ice. He grabbed the bridle as Tristan dismounted. Isolde swept up into a nearby tree to perch. Kaan moved the horse over with the rest of the mounts before returning to his guard position.

The fire crackled dangerously and sputtered from the moisture of the wood being used. Dagonet nodded to his friend and moved over so the scout would be better able to warm by the fire. Arthur and Lancelot stood apart from the group in deep discussion over a well-worn map.

They had been out for a few days before the storm had come up. There had been reports of Woads below the wall just north of Eboracum, in larger numbers than previous years. Such a threat could not be left uninvestigated, so the Sarmatian knights had been dispatched. Tristan knew the locals would take the storm as a sign of Merlin's power. The dark magician who ruled the blue demons and ghosts could spark as much fear and awe as Arthur himself. Now they found themselves trapped two days ride from the wall, or any defensible point, and at the mercy of the elements; and if he was right also at the mercy of Merlin.

Gawain handed a hunk of bread to Tristan along with a bowl of rapidly cooling stew. Nodding his thanks he quickly consumed both before they were as frozen as he was. After a few moments rest he rose and made his way over to Arthur. Lancelot maintained his near constant scowl. If there was one thing he hated worse than Romans it was bad weather. It instilled a foul mood in him with no comparison.

"Any movement?" Arthur asked. Shuddering slightly as a particularly strong gust ripped through the woods.

"Not that I could tell. It's quiet."

"Too quiet." Lancelot added still staring at the map.

"We should get back to the wall, "Tristan said tersely, "It is too unprotected."

"You think the reports were a device to lure us away."

Tristan and Lancelot both nodded their agreements. Arthur paused a few moments. If they left and were wrong, they would all be punished for moving away from their ordered post. However, if their gut feelings were correct and they did not go the damage could be catastrophic.

"We leave within the hour."

* * *

The prospect of heading back to the wall spurred the group to be ready well before the hour was up. Driden rode out ahead of the group to scout until Arthur felt Tristan and his mount were rested enough to help with the task. They kept to the woods for as long as possible, but eventually had to break from its cover. The small group of Roman soldiers with them huddled together under the incessant onslaught. The knights stayed spread out in a more defensible position. Arthur called only a few rests during the interminable march, usually when Tristan or Driden had returned to the group to give their reports. The journey seemed never ending in the frigid world of white. Time slowed and it seemed an eternity before they finally met up with the road to the wall. Tristan and Driden had managed to direct them to within only a few leagues.

Once in the confines of the fort the wind lessened considerably, and the group disbanded; each seeking food, warmth, and rest. Arthur requested the presence of the knights later that evening, but released them from duties for the remainder of the day. They would be no use to him exhausted. Tristan made his way to Ava's room, wanting to check on her before he finally allowed himself to succumb to sleep. He knocked lightly before opening the door.

Vanora sat beside the bed eating a light lunch with Ava, who was propped up in the bed by some pillows. Ava's eyes shot up to his as he entered a few steps. Vanora smiled back towards him, and made to leave. Tristan motioned for her to stay , far to weary to spend any time himself he left swiftly. His room was just at the far end of the hall. If anything was needed Vanora would come get him before she left the barracks. Changing into clean, dry clothes he dropped into bed and was asleep within minutes. Isolde upon her perch followed shortly.

He woke abruptly, more from hunger than anything else. Isolde had woken and wormed her way out of the window at some time during his slumber. The storm had died down and it was only snowing softly.

Ava sat in her bed quietly writing down everything that had been happening to her since she had woken up in the infirmary and what had happened before she landed there. Not out of some hope it would be read, but to keep herself sane. Her stomach growled angrily, not nearly satiated from the lunch earlier. Lying in bed unconscious for a week or so was catching up with her appetite. Tristan entered this time without knocking, catching her off guard. Even through the mess of hair and dirt she could tell he was very tired. She sat the small piece of charcoal down as he made his way to the chair at her side.

Smiling faintly she managed to wrangle out a hello. Vanora was adept at taking care of her, but teaching a language from scratch was not within her grasp in between her other responsibilities. Tristan responded in like giving her the opportunity to practice it a few times, the words tumbling softly off her lips. She turned to sit the paper and coal on the table revealing a yellowed bruise on the side of her face that disappeared into her hairline.

Tristan was over and inspecting the damage before she could even blink. Anger began to well up within him, and he swore he would end whoever had dared do that to her. After a few moments, Ava batted him away, blush covering her cheeks. Tristan sat perplexed, she seemed unaffected from receiving the injury. Not the way someone would be after being attacked. Now he knew he needed to speak to Vanora. She would know what had happened.


End file.
